


armor heart

by timetrees



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Depression, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Illness, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetrees/pseuds/timetrees
Summary: “I don’t want you to die,” Kon said. It felt like maybe the most honest thing anyone had told Tim in a long time. Was it so simple? “I really, really don’t want you to die.”Tim swallowed.“Do you?” Kon asked.





	armor heart

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to get this out there  
> warnings for implied suicidal thoughts and suicide ideation.

Tim’s fights with Kon weren’t often serious and didn’t often go too far.

They were best friends, and they’d stepped on each other’s toes so much in the beginning that it sometimes seemed impossible to really get mad at the other anymore. It had been done so many times before, when they were younger and more immature.

Tim, contrary to what people watching him might think, did not like getting into fights. Not with his friends, or his exes, or the actual people he was dating in the moment.

“I don’t know why you’re angry at me,” Tim said to Kon, deflecting, rational as he’d trained himself to be. Was he a human, anymore, or was he just an amalgam of learned behavior? That was the sort of thinking that made Kon upset, if he heard it.

Kon’s fingers spasmed, like he wanted to reach out and touch Tim – he was such a tactile person, was it because he grew up in a pod? – but restrained himself at the last moment. He said, “I’m not–” and cut himself off, because he wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not.

Tim watched him, stiff against the wall. They were in the Tower. Hopefully nobody was around to see this, though most of the team had been in or witnessed far more tumultuous fights than this.

“You don’t _care_ ,” Kon said, like every word strained him. “You could’ve died, right then, and you were just going to let it happen?”

Tim thought his anger was going to explode inside of him. _Not right now_ , he told the younger, less repressed version of himself. His hands were clenched into fists. _Not now,_ he told his body, and willed them almost open again. Not quite.

“That isn’t what happened,” he said, and was sure he believed it. “I made a calculated risk–”

“This isn’t the first time,” Kon said, and Tim wondered how much of his anger came from worry. “How many suicide missions have you gone on just because you don’t care anymore, Tim?”

The words _suicide mission_ hurt him, though he didn’t care to show it. Suicide missions, like his quest to get Batman back. Suicide missions, like just about half the events in any crime fighters’ life. Tim thought it was unequivocally unfair.

He couldn’t read Kon’s expression – he was never good at that when he wasn’t looking for a criminal – but if he had to guess, it was something between anger, despair, and the look he always got on his face when he couldn’t help someone, the one he couldn’t quite place.

Tim hated it.

He was shaking, a cold pit in his stomach spreading to the rest of his body. He was pins and needles, a step out of his body, feeling something but not sure what.

It was like when, months and months ago, Dick had cornered him while he was still looking, searching, for Bruce. He’d told him he was grieving, that he needed help, a therapist in Metropolis. That wasn’t what Kon was going to tell him, because he too had been told many times to see a therapist and had always complained to Tim about it afterwards.

What, Tim wondered, was really the difference, between that and this?

But he’d always known they were hypocrites.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Tim said, controlled only to a point. His eyes were tired. He wanted to sleep. It was too late for this.

“Tim…” Kon’s voice softened here, and Tim could feel the real, actual worry in his voice, and he couldn’t stand it. Bart had nightmares almost every time he slept – why wasn’t Kon cornering him?

He knew that was unfair, so he didn’t say it.

“I don’t want you to die,” Kon said. It felt like maybe the most honest thing anyone had told Tim in a long time. Was it so simple? “I really, really don’t want you to die.”

Tim swallowed.

“Do you?” Kon asked.

That was the question.

Tim didn’t think they were fighting anymore, not really. They were too tired for it. Tim wanted to stop talking about it and kiss him and watch one of the shitty TV shows Kon liked so much, but he knew they couldn’t do that.

They had to talk about this at some point. Tim really wasn’t doing anything on purpose. Maybe, maybe some small part of him thought that if he died in combat, killed by some villain or other worthy adversary, it would hurt less, to have someone to blame other than himself. It was a selfish and transparent notion.

Tim didn’t realize his eyes were watering until Kon moved toward him, a hand drifting up to his cheek, a thumb near his eye. It was gentle. It was nice.

Tim had no expression on his face.

He didn’t say _sorry_ , because it wasn't necessary, and he didn’t say _thank you_ , because that wasn’t, either. He closed his eyes and let Kon pull him in. It was a role they’d both played, in different ways, the comforter, the listener, the crier.

Kon, tense and tapping his fingers on concrete, talking around what was going on with him. Bart, who kept it in till he cried or you caught him in a nightmare. Tim, who…

He didn’t open his eyes when he pulled away, only a few inches, lifting his neck from Kon’s shoulder. “Do you want to.” he eyed away, swallowing. “Watch something?”

“Sure,” Kon said. “But you’re going to fall asleep five minutes in.”

“No, I’m not,” Tim muttered, though he really probably was. “What are we watching?”

“Some medical drama?” Kon suggested. “We could watch one of the Cristina episodes of Grey’s. Cuz we’re Jews.”

Tim smiled. The conversation wasn’t over. Honestly, it probably never would be, with the way they led their lives. But Kon let him lead them away into Tim’s room in the Tower and curl up on the bed, skin touching spandex touching spandex.

Tim tried to open up Netflix using his foot and mostly succeeded. Kon put his head on Tim’s shoulder.

“I wish you were happy,” Kon said, just when Tim thought it was over.

Tim’s eyes flitted shut, then open again. “I am,” he said, almost truthfully. “Sort of. When I’m with you and Bart, especially.”

A smile grew slowly on Kon’s face. “Yeah,” he said. “I love you,” he added.

“Yeah,” Tim said. He waited until Grey’s Anatomy got to the theme music, and added, “I love you too.”

He fell asleep still wearing his costume.

**Author's Note:**

> i like uhh never see fics about tim's suicidal thoughts that are like... Actually Good. if you know any or have written any feel free to link me!  
> this was meant to be part of a longer thing, but i decided against it. there IS another timkon (side timkonbart) thing coming up...probably....maybe....insert community finale reference...  
> by the way, this is meant to be set a year-ish after red robin (2009), so tim's 18-19ish.


End file.
